August 29, 2007

AL HAIL

His Bicycle Bash By The Bay, which he organized shortly after leaving the Tampa Tribune as a sports business reporter last year, won the "Event of the Year" award from the Florida Bicycle Association this week.

It was a great event. We had a blast at last year's inaugural gathering.

DREAM IF YOU WILL A PICTURE,OF TINY CLOTHES ENCASED IN A BOX

I was a huge Prince fan when I was in college.

So it was only natural that I drop by the Hard Rock Cafe when I got to Minneapolis. Especially since it's next door to my hotel and just across the street from First Avenue, the club where much of "Purple Rain" was filmed.

Sure enough, the cafe had plenty of Prince memoribilia. But it was upstairs at the entrance where the restaurant opens to a mall.

August 21, 2007

TWO MINUTES IN HEAVEN IS BETTER THAN ONE MINUTE IN HEAVEN

It's ugly when I fixate on something.

My latest: Flight of the Conchords.

I finally got around to watching their show on HBO the other night. I've been laughing like a crazy man ever since.

The formula: the fourth-most popular folk duo in New Zealand try to make a dent in America. They have an inept manager, no fans and no record sales. They do have an overzealous fan. And an overactive musical fantasy life. They goof on everything from their lack of prowess to the Pet Shop Boys and Barry White mood music.

Here are some samples of the songs they do. This first one is "Business Time."

August 14, 2007

ADVENTURES IN TRAFFIC: MONS VENUS EDITION

Rommie and I had just finished lunch at a restaurant in South Tampa yesterday.

"What's that on that truck's antenna?" he said.

I grabbed the camera and zoomed in.

"Nah, that can't be."

I had to have a closer look. It's not every day you see an antenna used as a stripper pole.

Wow.

Amazing amount of detail. Must be cold on the hood.

Then I looked at the truck's windshield.

I have no further comment at this time.

UPDATE: It would appear that I'm late to this party. The one in these photos apparently is adult film star Jenna Jameson.

Other versions even come with a back story:

RAVEN - is a 21 single brunette from Seattle Washington. She is expecting her first child, although she is unsure of the identity of the father. She quit school in the 9th grade, confident of her rocker boyfriend's pending record deal.

If you're looking to buy an RV, maybe for some RV camping, then there's more than just getting the vehicle. You'll want to be briefed on safety concerns, as well as make sure you have the right RV supplies on hand, just in case.

August 08, 2007

HANKERIN'

I was watching Sportscenter this morning with Salad Boy. We had awakened to the fact that Barry Bonds had surpassed Hank Aaron's home run record.

Salad Boy was greatly dismayed. Me? I'm just so over it all and glad that the discussion will be cleaned from the national media table. I couldn't really care any less.

Which, you know, is markedly different from the last time I went through this. To me, there was no bigger star than Hank Aaron when I was between 8 and 9 and digging baseball in a big way.

So I went back into the Saladsmithsonian files and pulled out a magazine I'd saved since 1973.

Back then, we rooted for the Atlanta Braves as the hometown team, since there was no baseball team located south of Georgia permanently. This was before the games were shown in St. Pete on WTCG (the precursor to WTBS and TBS). Whatever they showed on NBC's Game of the Week is what we got. And the Braves, though abysmal as a team, were the default "local" choice.

During those years, baseball was king for me. Football wouldn't grab me by the eyeballs until 1976, when the Buccaneers finally showed up. In the early 1970s, guys like Sal Bando, Reggie Jackson, Carl Yastrzemski were my sports heroes. I remember doing a book report on Lou Brock. I wanted to be a catcher like Johnny Bench. I played Little League with wood bats made by the same people who made them for the Boston Red Sox. Tug McGraw came to my Cub Scout pack meeting one time and threw heaters to a kid in the school cafeteria while wearing a polyester powder blue leisure suit. I got Pete Rose's autograph during spring training one year at a spring game at Al Lank Field in downtown St. Pete and thought I'd scored big. I still have it to this day.

Baseball was big.

So when this article showed up in Newsweek with Aaron about 14 shy of breaking Babe Ruth's record of 714 home runs, I devoured it. Charlie Bishop, a friend of the family who lived on the third floor of my grandmother's hotel, gave it to me when he saw how fascinated I was. (That's his address label on the cover.)

Going back and re-reading it, a few passages stand out, especially when compared to today's antipathy for Bonds' achievement.

First is this anecdote, which, because it includes Yogi Berra, offers endless amounts of authenticity:

Then there's this gem. Contrasted with Bonds' succeed-at-all-costs and "F**k you" attitude, the difference between Aaron and him is stark:

I can't say that Barry Bonds will ever be a role model for anyone. I also can't say that he was much of one before he started taking steroids, either. He was always a monumental a-hole, if "Game of Shadows" is any indication.

Thoroughly depressed by reading about how the record had shifted from a good man's hands to a bad man's, I went in search of other indicators in the magazine that life had changed for the better since 1973.

Uh, dudes, there's nothing cool about what you're wearing.

And the fact you're in a pseudo classroom setting is creeping me out.

Billie Jean. Interesting.

Way too much wicker in that photo, though.

Looks like her apartment got Pier 1 Imports poisoning.

What's the ad copy say?

Oh, yeah. Husband. Right. Forgot about him.

So they used a baseball pitcher to illustrate a TV in a football stadium without an obvious electrical source. Makes sense.

Back then, a color TV like this was a big deal. Today, you'd be on Welfare if you had a TV like this.

Then there was this winner:

Just a couple in love, having drinks and sitting in the well of an industrial tire swing.

The drink of choice?

Why the Machete? Because making a tall glass of Smirnoff Uzis just didn't sound romantic enough.

You can also make this with O.J., but then it becomes The Slasher.

Staying with the drinking theme ...

Ah. A sign of the times.

It's comforting to know we solved our geopolitical fossil fuels issue decades ago when it first reared its ugly head.

Speaking of which, the gas crisis was a recurring theme throughout the ads in the magazine.

Among the highlights here:

Just three guys standing around having a warm and friendly chat as a an attendant puts gas into this 25 mpg machine.

I think this is the same photo composition they used for Dockers ads in the 1980s.

Dig the crazy ad copy in this one:

I love when they design things with people in mind. Especially when people will be inside them as they hurtle down the road at 80 mph without seatbelts on.

Beat THAT, Lee Iococca!

Ooooh, tape deck. Fancy.

Looks just like the one that ate a copy of "Back in Black"' in 1981 in the dash of my 1976 Buick Skylark.

NOW PLAYING AT THE INTERSECTION OF SELF-PROMOTION, COUNTRY MUSIC, CELEBRITY COOKING AND INTERVIEWING HELL

KING: By the way, country superstar Toby Keith, his new album is called "Big Dog Daddy." He's a good friend of ours.

DEEN: "Big Dog Daddy."

KING: He sent us a question for you. He said, "I have an awesome fried bologna sandwich that's a huge hit at my restaurants. Are there any dishes you've created that turned out to be a lot more popular than you expected?"

DEEN: Yes. And it's probably my ho cakes.

KING: Ho cakes?

DEEN: My ho cakes.

KING: What's a ho cake?

DEEN: Well, it isn't the girl on the corner, I'll tell you, that Larry. A ho cake is a pan-fried cornbread.

KING: Go ahead.

DEEN: It looks like almost like a pancake, not quite as big. And we have bread stations on the ding room floor at the Lady and Sons, and we have somebody out there on the griddle cooking these ho cakes. And we cook them in butter, well, actually a clarified margarine and they are so good with pot liquor from our collard greens and then at the end of your meal with syrup, they are just out of this world.

KING: Well, you ought to try Toby's fried bologna too.

DEEN: I would love to try his fried bologna.

KING: Toby, send her some.

Yes, Toby. Please do. By all means. If there's anything that a chain-smoking 60-year-old woman with a penchant for cooking buttery food needs, it's a fried bologna sandwich. In fact, make it a double. And send over a carton of Lucky Strikes while you're at it.

August 07, 2007

[(GOOD-"BYE" A/MY!")]

We bid adieu today to colleague Amy Williams, who did everything from review restaurants for the Tribune to slog through the endless entertainment announcements that flood our office every day. She's leaving to mold the young minds of Hillsborough County as a teacher.

To say goodbye, we bought her a cake.

It was a delicious carrot half-sheet cake with cream cheese icing - and all the lavender food coloring on the eastern seaboard.

Then, because I'm anal retentive and in the word bidness, I noticed a few punctuational errors.

Namely...

... an opening parenthesis and an quote mark in front of Good, as well as ...

... an end quotation mark and a closing parenthesis."

And we're not even mentioning the missing comma between Luck and Amy. We had to let that slide in the context of the greater punctuational crimes.

What makes all of this worse: these are the kinds of errors Amy has been saving us from for years. We'll miss her "("greatly.")"

CAN YOU EAR ME NOW?

LETTER FROM ALASKA

Last I heard from my Uncle Pete, (yes, the one who was in the paper posing with a potato he grew that was shaped like a moose), the fishing season had gloriously kicked in.

I always enjoy hearing these stories of him catching a ton of salmon and halibut. Right up until the point that it inspires deep wells of envy and jealousy to spring forth from my soul.

We have officially passed that exit:

WELL JEFF, GRACE AND BRIAN,

THE "FISHIN" IS LOUSY, ALL WE GOT BESIDES A FEW CHICKENS THE OTHER DAY WAS THIS 77.4 HALIBUT AND THAT LITTLE 57 LBER. YOU CAN SEE WHO IS STANDING BESIDE THE BIG ONE. AND IF YOU CAN'T TELL WHO IT IS -IT'S ME~~!!

ALSO, THE RED SOCKEYES ARE RUNNING WILD. WE WENT DIPPING LAST WEEK. THREE OF US AND GOT 103 DANDIES. PLUS, THE BANK FISHIN FOR REDS IS BUSTING WIDE OPEN. THEY JUST RAISED THE LIMIT FROM 3 TO 6 A DAY.

GOLLY, THEY ARE MAKING US WORK AT THIS "FISHIN"--SOMETIMES I WONDER IF IT WOULD'NT BE NICER SWEATING AND SCREAMING, "TURN THE AIR CONDITIONER TO AS LOW AS YOU CAN GET IT." I SURE MISS THAT AIR CONDITIONING. UP HERE WE GOT TO GO OUTSIDE TO COOL OFF~~~~!!!! YOU GOT IT NICE DOWN THERE.

'YOU CAN'T HELP WHO YOUR RELATIVES ARE'

THAT'S JUST HOW WE ROLL: OREO COOKIE

When we last left my electric hot dog roller, I had just cooked a Twinkie to just past an inch of its life. It was ooey. It was gooey. It looked, as I said at the time, like some sort of snack cake hate crime.

In search of other cylindrical objects to roll to a well-done cookedness, I found my next prey: Oreo cookies.

Okay, fine. They're round. But how do you keep them from topping over on their edges? It'd be like balancing Nicole Richie on the head of a pin, right?

Sure.

But what if you stuck a couple of toothpicks in her and attached them equally skinny Paris Hilton and Courtney Love?

With that inspiration in mind, I decided to turn my discs into axels.

Voila'!

Okay. It works on a flat surface. But how would it handle going off-road on the backroads of the hot dog roller?

I enlisted my friend and colleague Rommie to give me a hand.

This maneuver required a surgeon's steady hand.

You know, if the kind of surgery is the kind that takes the wishbone out of the board with tweezers in "Operation" without lighting the guy's red nose up.

Success! Damn if the things didn't spin like the rims of an 18-wheeler heading on down the highway.

I PROMISED MYSELF I WOULDN'T CRY TONIGHT

A CONVERSATION WHICH WE DID NOT OVERHEAR,BUT WHICH WE CAN EASILY IMAGINE HAVING TAKEN PLACE

Barber: "8 and 8."

Phillips: "I say 4 and 12."

Brooks: "Sheeeit, we'll be lucky if we beat Miami in preseason."

* * * * * *

To see 76 other equally fantastic, spectacular and overly humid photos shot during the morning practice Saturday at the Tampa Bay Buccaneers training camp at Disney's Wide World of Sports complex in Lake Buena Vista, click here.

Included in this gallery are shots of Jon Gruden's kids playing football on the practice field, autograph shots, a photo of Gruden's amazingly buff wife Cindy and pics of players and staff arriving at the team hotel in Celebration.

I even threw in a couple shots of a sensitive Mike Alstott pushing a stroller. You're welcome, ladies.

A SERIES OF OPEN LETTERS: KARMA IS A BITCH EDITION

Using a wheelchair-bound, geriatric former news gatherer as an investigative Trojan horse for stalking another debilitated, slipper-and-robe-wearing geriatric at his home, well, I have to admit I never would have thought of that. Must have been out sick the day they taught that in J-school.

Hey, is that the very quotable Dick Clark who just fell down that flight of stairs over there?

A SERIES OF OPEN LETTERS: PAGING MR. FREUD EDITION

Dear Esquire,

For years, I had wondered what the dark, dusty, Musk-by-Jovan-scented corners of my Id would resemble if they were unleashed synaptically by the trigger of a provacative and stimulating photographic image.

After seeing your collection of shots showing Giada De Laurentiis frolicking in what could only be described as a sexually suggestive ragu, let's just say ...

FUN WITH LABELS AT THE ASIAN MARKET

I love cruising through Oceanic Supermarket on Tampa Street, just north of I-275. There are so many things foreign to my diet that I'm simultaneously compelled to explore and embarassed by my ignorance of how to actually cook and use the delicacies in the store.

So, taking a note from Sir Edmund Hillary, I found my own Tenzing Norgay to help me scale this culinary Everest: Jaden Hair from Jaden's Steamy Kitchen.

Jaden was the subject of a feature I wrote this week for Flavor. I wrote about her spectacular food blog and about how she came to be an amateur food photographer and professional cooking teacher.

So when she said she was coming to Tampa this week to do some shopping, I asked to tag along. (That's her above next to the fish tank at Oceanic, picking out which gigantic live tilapia she wants whacked for dinner.)

Jaden was kind to do a "See this? Eat it." and "See this? Don't eat it." tour. We perused the aisle with the soba noodles. I learned tips about Asian spices to sprinkle on popcorn. At her behest, I popped a couple of peppercorns into my mouth and felt my tongue go numb. It was like a mini vacation for my tastebuds.

And although I've shopped there many times before, I saw new items that I hadn't previously noticed.

Interesting. What's that?

Nice. Very pink. Tender.

Looks like Porky used Lavoris.

What else?

Hmmm. Looks like some sort of blanched squid.

Beef aorta. I was way off.

That's aorta. As in, "Aorta not buy that or else my family will vom at the dinner table."

August 01, 2007

WHAT IF?

ST. PETERSBURG - It was another historic night at Tropicana Field and another victory in Tampa Bay’s march to a second consecutive division title.

Devil Rays left fielder Barry Bonds slammed his 869th homer into the right field scoreboard, breaking Sadaharu Oh’s worldwide home run record. The seventh inning solo homer was the difference in Tampa Bay’s 4-3 win over the Houston Astros.

As Bonds trotted the base paths, confetti rained down from the dome’s catwalks. He was greeted at home plate by his teammates, including Oh, who came from Japan to celebrate the breaking of his record.

“I want to thank all the Tampa Bay fans for being here and supporting me,” Bonds said to the crowd of 45,025 during an in game ceremony. “You have embraced me and made me a better ballplayer and better man. Thank you.”

Bonds has become part of the community here in Tampa Bay, despite his reluctance to play originally for the team in 1993. It was Devil Rays owner Vince Naimoli who convinced Bonds to honor his contract and follow the San Francisco Giants to St. Petersburg.

“There wasn’t much convincing to do,” Naimoli humbly said. “Once Barry realized that it’s 322 down the right field line and in a dome, he was packing a moving truck.”